Descent
by animagus1369
Summary: Is Voldemort really as bad as he seems, or is he just misunderstood? (formerly titled "How Dark is your Dark Lord?"


Muggles. If I could I'd take them all in one of my hands and crush them into dust. Muggles. Worthless, incompetent, ignorant, they go about their daily lives like so many ants, their existence meaningless. Like vermin, to be stamped out and eliminated. I can't remember a day I didn't feel this way. Perhaps there were some, in the very early days, before I knew what I was. Perhaps then, I only hated them for their insensitivity. Their selfishness. Their utter disregard of others.  
  
perhaps  
  
but then again, perhaps not  
  
Growing up in a Muggle orphanage, I learned early and well that my father had abandoned my mother. Was there ever a time I was not aware that he was living mere miles away, a time when I did not know that he had left her, before I was even born? There may have been such a time. If so, I can't remember it. If so, it was such a meaningless fantasy period that it is now lost to the ages. Irrelevant. Idiotic.  
  
perhaps there was a time like that  
  
but then again, perhaps not  
  
Were there a few pleasant days or months or years when I was oblivious to the fact that he had found something about her so strange and wrong and unforgivable that he abandoned her, and me? Perhaps there were. I was, after all, only an infant. Still, if those days existed, once, in a world that was less cold and cruel, I have no memory of them. So they might as well have never existed, if they ever did. Whatever effect they might have had on the course of my life is completely irrelevant.  
  
perhaps I wasn't always aware  
  
but then again, perhaps not  
  
The truth was, and is, that he rejected her. Immediately, and without regret. Without punishment for leaving her to die alone. Without punishment for leaving me to be abandoned.  
  
now I know why he did it  
  
She was a Witch. He was a Muggle. He did not understand her powers. He might even have feared them. I am not certain how he felt about her magic.  
  
I do not care  
  
Certainly, he wanted nothing to do with her, once he knew she was a Witch. Nothing to do with her, and nothing to do with the child they had created between them. He couldn't possibly have wanted the child. Am I not proof of that? When she died, shortly after I was born, he never came for me. He let me be taken away, swallowed up into the depths of a Muggle orphanage where I never belonged. Where I was different, consigned to corners and condemned to watch other children being taken home by parents who wanted them.  
  
silly Muggle children, going home with silly Muggle parents  
  
parents who wanted those children  
  
who wanted me?  
  
I suppose that depends on what you mean by 'wanted'  
  
Johnson wanted me. Terrible old Muggle administrator of a terrible old Muggle orphanage in terrible old Little Hangleton. I was a convenient target. I was the outcast. I was the child none of the others wanted to be near. I was the one around whom strange things happened, who seemed to their pitiful little Muggle minds to be a walking bad-luck charm.  
  
ignorant Muggles  
  
little did they know  
  
they never dreamed what bad luck I could truly bring them  
  
what bad luck I would bring them  
  
Johnson wanted me. I was his mark, the focus of all his pathetic Muggle frustrations, the child who could be shouted at and slapped around without fear of reprisal, or of punishment. From my earliest memories, Johnson was always there, huge and looming, his ruddy Muggle face deepening to scarlet with rage. Later, as I got older and my powers got stronger, the rage took on a cast of fear. He shouted all the louder as part of him recoiled from me.  
  
from what I was  
  
even I didn't know.  
  
not then  
  
It was worse after a child had been taken home by a family, Muggles getting into their Muggle cars or buses, Muggles slipping away from the orphanage into the Muggle world. Joining the other ants, scurrying from place to place, fading from the view of those who remained in our little isolated orphanage world. The loss of even the smallest targets made Johnson rage all the more. The women in the dormitories knew better than to try and placate him. Stupid Muggles. Never a thought for anything but their own positions. We went hungry many times on the nights a child had gone to the Muggles, hungry and dazed by the storm of anger whirling around Johnson and his purpling face. He was a stupid Muggle in a long line of them, Johnson was. Interrupted one of his tellings-off? Locked in a broom closet. Spoke without being spoken to? Locked in a broom closet. Forgot your chores? Locked in a closet. Defended yourself from the beatings attempted by boys who thought you were a bad-luck outcast? Locked in a closet. Failed to defend yourself, and ended in bleeding on the worn wooden floor? Locked in a closet.  
  
as though being locked in a closet was worse than having to see his stupid Muggle face and hear his stupid Muggle ranting  
  
When I was eight, I waited until Johnson was busy stuffing his ugly Muggle face in the dining room, after we were all supposed to be in bed, and snuck into his office. He never locked the door. He thought he had us all too frightened to dare entering it unless ordered.  
  
stupid Muggle  
  
That was when I learned that the snide remarks and cruel taunts of the older boys were true. My father, Tom Riddle just like me, lived only a few miles away, in a house that I'd seen before on my way to school. Sitting up on a hill, that manor house looked down on the entire village and everything in it. Including me. It looked down on me. When I passed in sight of it the next day, on my way to the little school, I felt it looking down on me.  
  
freak  
  
mutant  
  
monster  
  
That house, and the people in it, had looked down on my mother. Every time I passed it, its taunts seemed to grow louder. More insistent. As time went by, its taunts became deafening.  
  
louder  
  
painful  
  
true  
  
Every time something strange happened around me, I heard the house jeering. Imagined the people who lived in it pointing at me.  
  
taunting  
  
laughing  
  
Even as they went about their lives, as good as oblivious to my very existence, eating in fancy Muggle dining rooms with fancy Muggle silver on fancy Muggle plates; even as they drove their expensive Muggle cars and listened to their Muggle radio, they were laughing.  
  
I could hear them  
  
always laughing  
  
The day I made Alistair Margraves' hair turn white after he tried to trip me into a huge mud puddle, I heard them laughing. The day Johnson tried to slap me and recoiled, howling, as if he'd received an enormous shock, I heard them laughing. When Johnson finally cornered me and sent me to the closet, slammed the door, and it fell off its hinges in three separate pieces, I heard them laughing. When someone put ink in my soup, when someone stole my schoolbooks, when someone else poured water over my sheets just before lights-out, I heard them laughing.  
  
they always laughed  
  
if it was anyone's fault that I hated them, it was their own  
  
they shouldn't have laughed  
  
The only day I didn't hear them laughing was the day my letter from Hogwarts arrived at the orphanage, a great tawny owl flying through the great room, past dozens of children trying to fill themselves as full of food as possible to stave off the inevitable hunger pangs that arrived during the lunch we never ate. Most of them didn't notice it, too intent on their food to take their eyes from the table. My closest neighbor at the table didn't notice, not until the owl landed neatly on the table beside the plate of toast he'd been reaching for. When he did notice, having grabbed the owl's tail feathers rather than the bread he'd expected, he simply pushed it aside and went on eating.  
  
Muggles  
  
Who else could ignore something as unusual as an owl delivering a letter during breakfast? It's no wonder Muggles are as weak and as worthless as they are. They have no vision.  
  
stupid Muggles  
  
Inside a month, I was out of the orphanage and on my way to Hogwarts. Hogwarts, where I learned that my mother had been a Witch. Where I learned that there were ways of paying back the Muggles who had hurt me. Where I decided to teach them, once and for all, that they had made a big mistake in treating me the way they had. At Hogwarts, I made friends. Even before the Sorting, even on the train, I made friends. I was no longer the outcast, no longer the bad-luck charm. Because I was no longer among Muggles. I was a Wizard among other Wizards and Witches. And then I was a Slytherin, among other Slytherins who shared my ambitions and my cunning, who would understand my plans for the Muggles who had caused me pain. I wasn't the only one who had suffered. Not the only one who had been made to feel unworthy or unclean or abnormal.  
  
my closest friends were the ones who had been hurt  
  
that was no mistake on my part  
  
you can use anything, even pain, under the right circumstances  
  
When I got my Hogwarts letter, it all became clear. There was a way to avenge my mother, to punish my father, to teach Johnson a lesson, to finally win against the bullies that had tormented me at the orphanage. There was magic in the world, magic these Muggles didn't know about or understand.  
  
magic they would never even suspect existed  
  
not until it was too late  
  
At Hogwarts, I discovered that I had an enormous talent for magic. I'm not being conceited. It's true. Even my worst enemies would acknowledge that, in terms of magical ability, few if any Wizards could touch me. I read everything I could get my hands on. It was never enough. I would no longer be the freak or the outcast. I would no longer be an indifferent student. I would make sure that nothing escaped my attention, that there was no branch of magic I did not excel in. There was so little time, you see, before I would put my plans into action. There was a lifetime of knowledge I needed to obtain, but so much less than a lifetime in which to gain it. I was a model student. There was no teacher's question I couldn't answer, no exam answer I couldn't give. In spite of the disadvantages of living in a Muggle orphanage, in spite of being parentless-my friends made sure that people knew about this and, believe me, the sympathy it got me was priceless-I was one of the best students Hogwarts had ever seen. So good at schoolwork, so good at spellwork, so brave in view of my upbringing. No one ever had a better cover than I had, when I was at Hogwarts. I had no intention of ruining my image by showing my ambition to anyone but my closest friends. I would not allow my plans to be destroyed by revealing my hand so early in the game. Still, there was someone who seemed to be aware of my strategy from the first. I suppose not even the most brilliant Wizard can hide his true nature from everyone. Dumbledore, even before his defeat of Grindlewald, was a force to be reckoned with. Those blue eyes, which had seen so much of the Wizarding World, seemed to burn through the façade of my innocence. Seemed to know the truth about me, as the eyes of my father had seen the truth about my mother. My mother, the Witch. Her son, the Wizard.  
  
freak  
  
monster  
  
Dumbledore seemed to know, without receiving the slightest outward hint, that I was far more than my model-student outward self.  
  
in that, as in so much, Dumbledore was right  
  
did he know?  
  
He was my Transfiguration professor. I saw him every day, in the Great Hall if not in lessons. I felt his eyes on me even when he was nowhere near.  
  
did my father look at my mother like that?  
  
like she might just be planning something unsavory?  
  
like she needed watching, because of who she was?  
  
like she might be two people caught inside the same body?  
  
And my outward behavior became more exemplary even as my secret self became more involved in my plans. My two sides-the public and the private-became ever more opposed to each other, even as the public side served the private. It was far too dangerous to be learning the Dark Arts and, after a while, practicing them if the part of me people saw would suspect that I was doing just that. So I became excruciatingly good, on the outside, while my inner self slid further into darkness.  
  
Did he know? Even after all this time, I am not certain. It is irrelevant. He did not try to stop me. That was his first major mistake. For all his strength, Dumbledore was foolish when it came to sentiment. He did not lift a finger to stop me. Even after all this time, he has not stopped me. He has tried. He has fought me. But he has not stopped me.  
  
he cannot stop me.  
  
did he know?  
  
My fifth year at Hogwarts was, in its own way, the best of them all. My public side had reached its first brilliant peak, and I was made a Slytherin Prefect. My private side, too, had reached its first peak. After four years of planning and study, I finally opened the Chamber of Secrets. No one ever suspected me-me, a Prefect, top student in my year, so squeaky-clean I nearly disgusted myself. No one ever suspected me-me, whose Muggle father had deserted his mother because she was a Witch, who grew up at the mercy of ignorant and bullying Muggles, whose heart was darker than midnight.  
  
no one ever suspected  
  
Opening the Chamber was simply the first step in my plans for revenge. Built by Salazar Slytherin, sealed so only his heir could open it, the Chamber housed a weapon that fitted in with my plans nicely. Slytherin had opposed teaching magic to anyone who was unworthy. That is, anyone who was Muggleborn.  
  
was it any wonder I was Sorted into Slytherin?  
  
I had learned of the Chamber in my first year, having read Hogwarts, A History within weeks of arriving at school. The idea of a weapon which could purge the entire school of Muggleborns intrigued me. To open the Chamber, though, one would have to be the heir of Slytherin. Since I had no idea this was even a possibility for me, a Halfblood born of a foul, common Muggle and a Witch, I simply admired the idea of such a weapon.  
  
I never suspected that I could be the heir of Slytherin  
  
not then, at any rate  
  
I learned as much about the Chamber as I could. And as my knowledge of the Chamber and of magic grew, as I learned more about Slytherin himself, I decided to try and open the Chamber. Perhaps, I thought, the 'heir' of Slytherin didn't have to be a true blood heir, but rather someone who thought the way Slytherin had, who held the same principles and who hated Muggles as he had. Imagine my surprise, in my fifth year, when I opened the Chamber only to find that I was, indeed, the heir of Slytherin.  
  
the basilisk surpassed my wildest, darkest dreams of a weapon  
  
I suppose it surpassed Myrtle's as well  
  
When she was found dead, I realized that I had miscalculated. Hogwarts was the closest thing I had to a home, and my impatience to open the Chamber and begin acting on my long-secret plans had jeopardized it. I had also endangered all my plans. There was too much left to learn, and there was nowhere else I could study. The school would be closed. A student had been killed.  
  
she was only a filthy little Mudblood  
  
Still, I needed the school. I needed to keep learning, to obtain as much information, to learn as much as I possibly could before leaving school. I couldn't let them shut down the school. I wouldn't let them destroy the plans I'd worked so hard to form. I needed a scapegoat. I've always wondered whether Hagrid, that great, stupid half-breed oaf, ever knew what an enormous favor he did me, playing around with that ridiculous Acromantula. An Acromantula, for Merlin's sake. Even a Muggle wouldn't have been so stupid.  
  
really, I should have thanked him  
  
perhaps I'll have the chance some day  
  
They believed that Hagrid and the Acromantula were responsible for causing the students' injuries, for causing Myrtle's death. Hagrid was expelled. No one knew what happened to the Acromantula. How they convinced themselves, I'm not sure. It's irrelevant. The school stayed open, and no one, not even Dumbledore, suspected me.  
  
did he know?  
  
After the Ministry had dispensed with the formalities, after Hogwarts was officially allowed to remain open, it was too dangerous to re-open the Chamber. I could have, at any time. But I had learned the value of patience. I never returned to the Chamber. Dumbledore's bright blue eyes, however, followed me far more closely than I remembered them doing before I'd staged Hagrid's capture and saved the school I'd nearly destroyed.  
  
did he watch me more closely than ever?  
  
was my imagination simply working overtime, because I knew the truth?  
  
did he know?  
  
I was Head Boy my last year at Hogwarts. I received an Award for Magical Merit. It was all I could do not to laugh in Headmaster Dippet's face when he handed me the award. He was nothing compared to what I was, just a weak old Wizard. I was young and strong and could have Cursed him into dust with two little words. There was no one at Hogwarts who could compare to me, who could hold a candle to my power.  
  
no one but Dumbledore, and I would soon be free of his piercing blue eyes  
  
did he know?  
  
When I left Hogwarts, it was as Lord Voldemort. Tom Malvolo Riddle was gone, never to return. I went to Little Hangleton. It was self- indulgent. I freely admit it. Still it seemed symbolic, somehow, that my plan would start with destroying the Muggle who had started it all.  
  
stupid Muggles  
  
No fight in them at all. Staring like idiots, wide-eyed and dazed, as the spell was spoken. As the green light flashed. Gone. I don't hear their laughter any longer.  
  
except  
  
in  
  
dreams  
  
Who's laughing now?  
  
dreams  
  
Johnson and the bullies from the Little Hangleton orphanage have long since been taken care of. Other Muggles, chosen at random, have been punished along with them. They were only the precursor to my rise.  
  
my first rise  
  
It was a blow, I freely admit it, when Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald shortly after I took care of things in Little Hangleton. Grindelwald was then known as the greatest Dark Wizard who ever lived. He might have been someone to learn from. He might have been  
  
like a father  
  
a teacher I could have respected. He might have been a partner, then a follower. Or he might have been a partner, then he might have met with an unfortunate accident. Nothing would stand in my way, once I found my path to power. Nothing.  
  
not even Dumbledore  
  
those piercing blue eyes  
  
did he know?  
  
I gained power slowly and steadily, and I found that what I had known all along was true for others as well. Pain can be used, under the right circumstances. I used it gladly. I used it freely. Their screams used to make me smile, loosening the tightness in my chest, easing the memories of other times, when the only screams were my own, and the sound they made was unheard except in my head.  
  
My laughter replaced the laughter I heard from the filthy Muggles who had bullied me, forgotten about me, abandoned me. I laughed so loudly that I could not hear the memory-laughter. The foul, Muggle memory-laughter.  
  
except in dreams  
  
I was a force to be feared, as I had dreamed of being since the day the owl flew into the orphanage so long ago. Nothing would stand in my way. Even Dark Lords have their blind spots. Mine was Harry Potter. Potter. How I hate that name. His parents were irritating enough, defying my wishes, resisting my authority. I hated James Potter for his pampered pureblood upbringing, for his pathetic nobility in the face of danger, for his love of his wife and son, for his vexing habit of fighting me and my Death Eaters. Former Head Boy, Auror for the Department, brilliant mind, incredible magical talents-he had everything he needed to outshine them all, to be one of my top deputies. He threw away the chance like he threw away his life, for a pathetically noble set of principles. At least Muggles aren't so stupid; they kill each other and betray each other every day. They, at least, aren't so sickeningly good. They, at least, wouldn't turn down the chance of nearly unlimited power for the chance to be noble and die. James Potter and his principles. The thought of them is enough to make me sick to this day. The Order of the Phoenix. Saving the world. Saving Lily and Harry. Self-sacrifice. Love.  
  
-lily, take harry and go! it's him! go! run! I'll hold him off--  
  
I killed him first, and I laughed as he died.  
  
that's what a father should be  
  
Lily Potter was worse. I had expected better of her. She'd been better than her husband in school, a Prefect and a Head Girl, was possibly the most powerful Witch I'd ever encountered. Certainly, she was the best at Charms. She could have had it all. She threw it away without a backward glance, all to save a puling little baby whose only outstanding characteristic was an untidy mass of black hair just like his father's.  
  
-not harry, not harry, please not harry!!  
  
-stand aside, you silly girl.stand aside, now.  
  
-not harry, please no, take me, kill me instead- not harry, please.have mercy.have mercy...  
  
Stupid girl. Probably came from being born of Muggles. She could have had the world at her fingertips. Though she'd been a Mudblood, I would have made an exception to my distaste for them, in her case. Her magical abilities would have made up for her parentage, in time.  
  
-not harry! not harry! please-I'll do anything-  
  
-stand aside. stand aside, girl!  
  
As though I would have bargained with her, when she was still defying me. As though a bargain that ended in Harry Potter living and Lily Potter in my power would have accomplished my goal. She'd known the moment I arrived exactly why I was in Godric's Hollow. It hadn't been to watch Harry crawl away untouched.  
  
of course, you didn't kill Harry, did you?  
  
she died for him  
  
she loved him so much she died for him  
  
what does that feel like?  
  
she saved him  
  
she loved him more than anyone ever loved you  
  
She hadn't had to die. I told her that. I could see in her eyes that she believed me. But the silly little Mudblood just couldn't let well enough alone. I killed her, and turned to her child.  
  
he was crying  
  
his father's yells and his mother's screams had woken him  
  
his mother's eyes  
  
his father's hair  
  
This one, at least, would be easy. I pointed my wand. I spoke the words. The green light flashed from my wand and hit the baby, whose tear-filled green eyes were staring at me curiously. The curse rebounded. The world faded to grey, and the concept of easy ceased to exist. Still, he hadn't killed me. No tiny little child of a Mudblood and a spoiled pureblood Wizard, no matter how powerful they had been, could have killed me. But he still existed. He still exists. He must be destroyed. The Prophecy demands it. I demand it.  
  
can I destroy him?  
  
so many attempts, so little success  
  
Six times now he has defied me. Six times, he has defeated me. He hasn't done it alone, of course. He has powerful friends and powerful supporters. Or rather, I have some powerful enemies. Until now I've been able to use the Ministry's idiocy against him. Fudge has been one of my greatest tools, an unwitting-and at times, witless-ally. If he only knew it.  
  
idiot of a Wizard  
  
might as well be a Muggle as act the way he does  
  
still, he's been so very useful  
  
I really should thank him in person  
  
perhaps I will  
  
soon  
  
Dumbledore or no, friends and supporters or no, Ministry or no, Harry Potter must be destroyed. It doesn't matter how I finally manage it. It doesn't matter who I have to use, who I have to destroy in the process. All's fair in love and war, after all. I've spent a lifetime working toward my goals. Potter will try to stand in my way. I will crush him like an insect.  
  
his parents died to save him  
  
his father died to save him  
  
my father.  
  
his mother died to save him  
  
my mother.  
  
Harry Potter must die.  
  
laughter  
  
He must die.  
  
dreams  
  
***  
  
The quotes from Voldemort's attack in Godric's Hollow were taken directly from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, ©1999 by J. K. Rowling. Similarly, all characters (except for Johnson) are property and copyright of J. K. Rowling. No copyright infringement was intended, no profit is being made from this fanfiction, and only the most sincere compliment is intended by the use of Ms. Rowling's characters in this interpretation. 


End file.
